


Give-and-Take

by rei_c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-30
Updated: 2006-10-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c





	Give-and-Take

Sam looks up when the door closes, sees Dean leaning against the door, sees the smirk Dean's wearing. He's about to say something, ask what (not who, not anymore) the hell Dean's done now, but then Dean holds up one hand and Sam's mouth goes dry. 

"You've got another pair," he says, and Dean's smirk grows as his thumb moves up and down on the handcuffs. Sam's heart skips a beat, and he tilts his head, asks, carefully, "Did you get arrested?" 

"Lifted them off a cop," Dean replies, shrugging off his coat but never letting go of the cuffs. "I don't think she minded much." Before Sam's eyes can narrow, Dean adds, "Thought we'd test them out," and now Dean's looking at him like he maybe wants to _eat_ him, so Sam can't help pushing. 

"I'm in the middle of something," he says, ink-stained fingers gesturing at the laptop, open and whirring in front of him, the books and papers scattered around him on the floor. He holds the look, wants to laugh as Dean just stares, but then Dean's crossing the room in angry long strides, dropping to one knee and practically ravaging Sam's mouth as Dean's hands knot themselves tight in Sam's hair. 

When Dean lets him breathe, Sam shifts, winces slightly at the pull on his scalp. "I wasn't joking, Sam," Dean says, and tugs again, tongue darting out and licking away Sam's grimace of pain. 

"Guess the research will have to wait," Sam mutters, and Dean smiles.

The books and papers get kicked all over the floor as Dean tugs Sam up by the hair, propels him to the bed, and pushes him down. Sam lands with an "Oof," legs spread and body off-balance, held up by one elbow and he looks at Dean with a raised eyebrow. "Impatient much?" he asks, and is actually surprised when Dean growls.

"You have _no_ fucking idea, little brother." 

That gets the other eyebrow going, and Sam looks down at Dean's crotch, sees the line of a hard cock pressed against Dean's jeans, and he's beginning to think that pushing Dean this time was a bad idea he's going to be paying for. When he looks back up at Dean, who's shucking off his coat and shirt, Sam swallows and realises, yeah, he's definitely going to be paying for it.

Dean smirks when he sees the look on Sam's face, smirks and nods, and then says, "Get naked, Sam."

Sam slides out of his clothes, quick and fumbling, buttons coming undone on the second, third tries. He pauses at his boxers, his undershirt, looking up at Dean, who's smirk has been replaced by a hesitant frown, like he's remembered something he'd really rather not. 

"All of it, Sam," Dean orders, like he's just waiting for Sam to refuse, but when Dean gets that tone in his voice, the one he's using now, there's hardly anything Sam wouldn't do for him. So Sam gets naked, lying on the bed under Dean's assessing eyes, fidgeting slightly until Dean sits down next to him and leans over, kisses him with the same gentle brutality as before until Sam's panting. "Scoot up," Dean murmurs, biting a line down Sam's collarbone, and Sam scrambles towards the headboard that isn't there. 

"How...?" he starts to ask, but then Dean's looping the cuffs around the box springs on one side, pulling Sam's hands down to meet them, so Sam's a straight line cutting the mattress into diagonal halves, feet hanging off one corner, hands another. 

"Try not to break that geekboy brain of yours," Dean says. 

Sam opens his mouth to reply, but then Dean's teeth start trailing over Sam's hipbones, and all that comes out is a muttered, "Ngh."

Dean's playing with him, Sam knows this, knows it well, but Dean's also _playing_ him, like Sam's some kind of instrument and Dean's this master musician who knows what kind of reaction every bite will get, every lick will get, every press of fingernails and gentle kiss, every pinch and murmured word. 

He plays Sam and he plays _all_ of Sam, trailing teeth down the skin behind Sam’s knees, nuzzling the shallow behind Sam’s ears, laving the dip between knuckles on both hands. Dean doesn’t talk much, during this, not like Sam would if their positions were reversed, but it's all right. Sam knows why Dean does this, because Dean doesn’t trust words when people use them to lie, prefers the language of touch, of _them_ , for it’s honesty. 

Sam thinks it lasts for hours, this teasing torment, because all of his muscles ache, his hair is sticking in damp curls to his neck and forehead, his cock is hard and leaking, and, " _Fuck_ , Dean, come _on_." 

"Say please, Sammy," Dean laughs, but he shimmies out of his jeans and boxers. Sam watches with heavy-lidded eyes, too wrung-out to stare but too turned on to ignore the sight of his brother getting naked. It never fails, watching Dean never gets old, like it's still this present Sam doesn't deserve and can never understand receiving. 

"Please," Sam whispers, because Dean told him to, but then Dean's stripped bare and pressing fingertips against Sam's ass. Sam murmurs something that doesn’t have words as Dean teases the hole with spit-slick fingers, and as one fingertip slides in, Sam arches, pleads. " _Please_ , Dean."

"You're mine, aren't you," Dean murmurs, and Sam's eyes are screwed close, trying to listen as Dean keeps talking although all of his focus is on the two fingers sliding in and out of him, stretching him open. "You're not coming until I'm inside of you," Dean orders, and Sam wants to nod, wants to say anything that'll make Dean happy, but all he can do is whine, wordless. "I'm the only one, Sam, the only one who ever gets to see you like this, open and wide and begging, c'mon, fuck, Sam, _beg_ for me."

Sam arches as Dean adds a third finger, tries to wrap his legs around Dean and wordlessly tell Dean to _hurry the fuck up_ , but then Dean reaches up and scrapes jagged nails across Sam's nipples. Sam can't help the words that spill out of his mouth then, the "Please, fuck me, more, need you, Dean, fuck me, please" chant that travels up his throat and out into the air. 

Dean stops, says, "Tell me again, Sam," in a low voice that goes straight to Sam's cock, and Sam can hear the wrapper being opened, knows Dean's putting on a condom and lubing up his dick, but he can't open his eyes, can't look, because if he does, he's going to come and he can't until Dean's--

" _Please_ , Dean, please, I can't, fuck me, Dean, fucking come on and _fuck_ me already, _please_ , now," he keens.

Dean doesn't laugh, hearing that, not like Sam would if Dean said it; Sam would say the words every day, does sometimes, when Dean gets in one of his moods, but he thinks that Dean still wonders, still thinks that maybe Sam's going to leave, that he can't accept the pleasure of hearing how much Sam wants him. It's something Sam thinks about all the time -- not the sex, but how to get Dean to realise that Sam _isn't going to leave again_. No matter how many times he says it, no matter how many times they fuck, Sam knows, _knows_ , Dean's still waiting for him to leave. 

There's nothing to do but stay with Dean, and Sam will do that even if he dies, whatever it takes to _stay_ , to be _here_ , like this. 

Dean's cock presses against Sam's hole, wide and blunt and wet, and Sam can't help the sound he makes. 

"Please, _Dean_ ," and then Dean pushes inside, and it hurts and it doesn't and, and, and--

"Fuck, Sam. You're always so tight, don't know how you stay so fucking tight, _fuck_."

"Dean, come _on_ ," Sam pleads, and Dean starts this slow, rocking motion specifically designed to drive Sam absolutely insane. 

It works. 

Sam's pulling on the cuffs, trying to get some leverage, but his hands remain fixed above his head and over the side of the bed, and even arching hurts, breathing _hurts_ , Dean stroking inside in long, even motions that make colours bloom on the back of Sam's eyelids. 

"Dean, please, please," Sam whimpers, hips shaking, cock hard and heavy. He's close, so close, and then Dean circles the base of Sam's dick and squeezes, lightly, cutting off the orgasm Sam can feel building in his stomach, his feet, his head. " _Dean_ ," Sam says but wants to cry, opening his eyes and looking at his brother. 

Dean looks far too pleased with himself, especially when he mutters, "Buy you a cock ring, make you last longer," and Sam stops breathing, muscles tense and spiralling out of control.

"Dean, please, I can't," Sam whines, and Dean's rhythm stutters, hips snapping forward with an answering urgency. 

"Okay, Sam," Dean says, moving faster. "I've got you. Just, just hang on, a little longer." 

It's not like Sam can argue, or even say 'all right,' not when Dean's finally moving faster, fucking Sam deeper and harder. He can't breathe, can't do anything but try and move, try and get Dean even deeper inside, like that's even possible. Sam's always been Dean's, always belonged to Dean, and this is just one more way, one more expression of that. 

Sam is Dean's, always has been, always will be, and it's no surprise that the only word Sam can think anymore, the only word Sam can say, can force out of his throat and lips, is "Dean," over and over again, "DeanDeanDeanDean _Dean_." 

"Yeah, Sammy, I know."

" _Dean_ ," Sam sobs, muscles so tense they feel like they're going to fly off of his bones, and Dean strokes inside and out, fucking him hard and fast, jerking him off at the same time, in a rhythm that makes Sam want to scream. 

"Yeah, come on, fuck, Sam," Dean mutters, and Sam can feel Dean holding back just long enough to make sure Sam comes first. "Come on and _come_ , little brother," Dean says, and that's enough to make Sam's blood boil up inside of him, find a way out of his body in pearly-white streams. His vision whites out, he can't see anything, can't _do_ anything except lay there and let his body ride out the aftershocks of orgasm, arms pulled tight and burning, legs splayed out and screaming. 

By the time Sam catches his breath, Dean's pulled out, tied off and tossed out the condom, used Sam's t-shirt to wipe Sam off, and he's lying on the bed next to Sam now, just watching. 

Sam turns his head, rasps out, "Handcuffs?" and Dean smiles. 

"I thought I'd leave them on. Y'know, for when you're ready to go again."

" _Dean_ ," Sam groans. "Not fair." It takes a moment for Sam to realise Dean's laughing, and when he does, he screws his eyes shut, frowns, opens his eyes, says, "What? Why the hell're you laughing?"

Dean leans forward, licks a stripe down Sam's neck, pausing to nip at Sam's pulse-point, Sam's jaw, Sam's collarbone. "I know I'm good, Sam, but I never thought," he says, then laughs some more, vibration sinking through Sam's skin into his bones, where something is humming in pleasure at the thought that Dean's _happy_ and Sam helped make that happen. 

"Sammy, I never said I was gonna be fair about this."


End file.
